


Rhythm

by septic_dr_citrus



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Aphrodisiacs, Because every magician needs the magical sex pollen story, Coming In Pants, Magic Gone Wrong, Magic and Science, Masturbation, Sensitivity, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Smut, Spell Failure, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septic_dr_citrus/pseuds/septic_dr_citrus
Summary: When one of Marvin's spells goes awry, he finds himself suffering some rather vivid side effects.





	Rhythm

The potion had gone entirely wrong—_so, so wrong_, but by the time Marvin realized his error it was far too late to stop the chain reaction. It had steamed, rattled and exploded, scattering dust particles in every direction and coating Marvin’s stunned face in a fine powder. Now, if he hadn’t made the mistake of _inhaling_ it, everything would have been fine.

Everything was not fine.

The first thing he became aware of after cleaning up was the flush in his cheeks and neck. At first he mistook it. Maybe he had scrubbed too hard with the washcloth? But there was a sort of…tingly warmth to it. Overheating wasn’t uncommon for him, especially after stretching the limits of his magic, but the sensation was more noticeable than usual. He did his best to breathe and endure it, loosening the knot of his cape and tugging on the damp collar of his shirt.

_It’s just the usual side effects_, he told himself.

Shockingly he actually let himself believe it.

Within fifteen minutes, as he was eating lunch, he caught himself tracing the rim of his plate. It was smooth and glossy and cool; it felt good against his fingertips. The fork felt good as it slid between his teeth. The food felt good as he swallowed. When had he last enjoyed a meal this much?

Within forty-five minutes, he was carding his hands through his hair, running his nails gently over his scalp. It relaxed him, it gave him a warm rush of sensations as silky strands caught against callouses. He wished someone else was here to brush his hair. He wanted to feel someone else’s hands.

Someone’s hands on him. He shivered a little at the thought, eyes falling closed as he imagined them tracing his hairline and cheekbones, dragging along his jaw and neck, their head dipping so they could scrape their teeth over his shoulder—

Oh.

He felt another flush of heat wash over him, a stuttered breath of realization escaping as he realized what he was feeling and why. It came with a deep pulse of dismay, despair, guilt and painful, sweet, _powerful_ arousal. Had he really botched the potion badly enough for it to do this? His head was starting to spin, his dazed attention drifting to the way his pants were hugging him. The fabric was warm, his skin even warmer, pressing snugly—in fact, the more he thought about it, the tighter the jeans became.

_No one else is home_, he remembered belatedly, though his mind framed the thought much more slyly and seductively than it would have otherwise. _No one’s home. Peace and quiet. All by yourself, free to…relax_…When had he started breathing so heavily? Even the air was stimulating as it dove in through his nose and out through his mouth in short, heavy puffs. His skin was itching with patches of sweat, goosebumps racing over him, every hair raised.

_No one’s home_. _No one’s home_. _Peace and quiet. Relax_.

_Relief. _The thought of relief sounded incredible right now.

Without his permission—but not entirely without it either—his hands began to wander. He didn’t know how to stop them; it was like they weren’t his own. The left slid back and forth over his chest as the right shifted lower to rub at his thighs. He bit his lower lip, chewing as he stroked, trying to find a rhythm.

Rhythm. He started to touch with purpose, teasing himself like someone else would, drawing tantalizing circles around his hardened nipples and pushing against the zipper keeping his length confined. Slow, slow, _excruciatingly_ slow, so slow and methodical that his toes were curling. Make the indulgence last, draw it out as long as possible. There wasn’t any rush except what he put on himself!

That being said, the more he told himself to slow it down, the faster his hands wanted to move. One nipple was pinched and he gasped, the pain sharp, the pleasure lush, a rush of blood dimming his hearing. He wanted more. He needed _more_. He obeyed his impulse, his hips bucking suddenly, grinding against his hand as his jeans dampened. He’d never liked the feeling of damp fabric before but now he was shifting forward into his hand, rocking into it and panting like a dog out in the heat. _In heat, in heat_, the words echoed, wanton, and even as he giggled shrilly it made him hornier.

Slow. Fast. Rhythm. Good, good, yes, rub right there, slow, fast, _now_. He was so lightheaded, everything was spinning—It was all good, it felt _so good_, even the dizziness. The dizziness felt as natural as the arousal, making his thoughts a thick blur. He couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. He thought about the potion that had done this, he wanted to make more of it, he thought about making a stain in his pants and didn’t care, he thought about being caught, being _seen_ like this and it made him drop his head forward and _moan_. His own noises choked him and he loved every single moment of it.

He lost himself in the cycle of strokes and sensations. Somewhere along the line his right hand found its way past the zipper and plunged into his underwear. He shuddered and whined as soon as his fingers made contact with his swollen length, sparks of pleasure tearing through him as he started swirling, fondling, pumping. The friction wasn’t enough, it was maddening, _more!_ Any moment now he would throw himself to the floor from bucking too far forward and he didn’t care in the least. By now he was frenzied. A fiery high was pouring through his veins, demanding oxygen that he couldn’t draw fast enough. He couldn’t breathe and the edge of the precipice was _so, so close—_

Then he was falling from the edge before he had any warning, arching and crying out as he poured into his hand. The climax felt endless, uncontrollable, merciless, practically bringing him to tears. When the twitching finally slowed, he doubled over, wheezing, ears ringing from the force of it.

Breathless and stunned, he stayed limp, listening as the wild stampeding of his heartbeat settled into a trot. His groin was aching, his underwear was soaked and his trembling hand was sore and filthy. He could have blacked out for the rest of the afternoon then and there, had he been given the chance.

He wasn’t. He should have been entirely spent, but the ache wasn’t receding as it would have normally. Instead he felt the same heat as before pooling in his stomach, stirring another rolling tingle of need_. _Even as he swallowed hard, his eyes glazed and dilated.

He probably wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm. Wonder if any of those magic particles spread to other parts of the house...Wonder if any of the others might feel the effects sometime ;)


End file.
